


Ode to Waning

by Mr_Purple



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe, F/F, Fem! Newt Scamander, Fem! Percival Graves, Female Characters, Gambling, Idolization, Kissing, Short Story, Unreliable Narrator, Warm Autumns, knife games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Purple/pseuds/Mr_Purple
Summary: Priscilla smiles, then grins, a deep rolling laugh coming up from her chest. She looks desperately at the radiant woman in her doorway. She speaks laughing and unsure, "Do you want to help me hide a body?"Priscilla Graves finally has the courage to talk to the woman next door.----A 1920s AU, a tale of two women in New York





	Ode to Waning

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed but still not perf. Rated Mature for themes. Major Warning: Character Death

Meu coração vagabundo  
Quer guardar o mundo  
Em mim  
-Coração Vagabundo by Ana Cañas

Priscilla Graves is gasping, roiling from the murky waters, and rising. Drenched and soaked she’s shaking, her muscles dripping with blood and water. The drops are falling starlets colliding with the blooming mess beneath her in shimmering points of a constellation. She slips, falling back in for an instance, and soaks the front of her sheer blouse. Rising back up, her nipples are hard points beneath her sheer black blouse, dark water sucking it to her skin.

Finally scrambling out she stands on the tile floor panting. The shower curtain is half torn off the hooks, and her blouse half-off her shoulder. Blood dribbles down from her chest, off her arms. It follows the crevice of of her body to pool at the curve of her breasts, shedding off lonely droplets. They explode in shimmering red bursts trickling and mulling about in the grout. She reaches a hand out to touch the curve of the bath tub, and hears Sir's untrimmed claws clink on the tile.

Priscilla looks to the doorway, her dog hesitates to move past the threshold. Sir is trotting on the raised metal and tossing her shaggy head. She shakes with a violent bark, but no sound escapes her besides a low whine. 

Priscilla falls to her knees, then sits on her ass. Sitting, back to the tub and facing the doorway, one wet arm slung over the edge. Newt stands in the doorway. She's shimmering golden, bright as daylight, a soft hand on the white door frame. "Pris," is all she says, pink mouth moving slowly.

Priscilla smiles, then grins, a deep rolling laugh coming up from her chest. She looks desperately at the radiant woman in her doorway. She speaks laughing and unsure, "Do you want to help me hide a body?" The room around Priscilla is cold and wet, her dark hair dropping packages of water that slide down her neck. She shivers, and basks in the glow of the woman smiling back at her, warm and forgiving.

***

The sun rose that innocent Monday morning. It peeked over the East end of The Alclyde. A complex of Pre-war apartments that combined an image of high ceilings, open foyers, and lavish courtyards for floor level tenants. 

Priscilla pushed against her powder blue door. She fumbled at the doorknob, and looked hopelessly at Sir. The mute schnauzer just watched with big brown eyes, her tongue lolling sideways out of her mouth. Priscilla pushed up on her tip toes looking through the crudely installed peephole.“She's out there,” She fell back and away from the door, and curled Sir’s leash in her fist. 

She ran a hand through her short hair, a sigh rattling through her body. Priscilla stood and looked back through.

The woman on the east side shone and shimmered. She wore a light yellow lawn-gown. The top half just opaque enough to conceal her nipples, and the bottom shear and revealing. It flowed and glittered in the sunrise. The woman casually basked in the daylight. Her feet bare, a steaming mug in hand, and head tilted towards the light that trickled past the open staircase. It filtered through the courtyard, and around the edges of the woman’s East wall. She toyed with her soft hair, pushed it behind one ear. Newt curiously stepped farther from her frame, and shot a glance at Priscilla’s door the sunlight carving out half of her face. 

Priscilla cracked away from the peephole. She had let go of Sir’s leash and made her way into her small kitchen, moving transfixed through her open foyer, mind stuck on clear blue eyes. She came back, a mug in her hand. She wiped at her white blouse, the drops of whiskey didn't budge. Sir bumped her head against Priscilla’s thigh, and Priscilla opened the door.

Immediately, Priscilla was met with sunlight. Warm and bright from the sky, and from the sweet, cautious smile of the red-haired woman. Priscilla let Sir’s leash go, a heated feeling overtook her, she felt stupid and wholly over-dressed. The woman smiled, her head swiveled gracefully to follow Sir, the dark schnauzer had trekked off into the open courtyard. 

“She’s beautiful,” The woman said her gaze still locked on Sir. 

“Thank you.” 

Sir barked far off, silent, and unheard; hopelessly vying for the cat on the third floor’s attention. The grey tabby swished and swayed on the windowsill, and meowed petulantly.

“Artemis- Newt, Newt,” Newt insisted. She shook her head, frustrated, her red curls bounced. “I’ve seen you around before, I mean-” She paused thumbed at her mug. “That’s probably creepy, but I like to look out the windows during the day.” 

“No, that’s fine,” Priscilla said back braced against the door jamb, its strike plate pinched at her skin. “I look at the moon.” She took a sip, the whiskey burned.

“Not a morning person,” Newt smiled bright and white, eyes fixed on the outside staircase. She left only a brief pause at the end.

Priscilla nodded, and chewed at the inside of her cheek, eyes still fixed on Newt’s yellow dress. “I’m not a person, person.” Sir trotted back to Priscilla’s side, pinched ears perked, and muzzle smug. She laid down across the threshold.

Newt chuckled light and pneumatic, her gaze darted over to Priscilla for a moment.“ I like animals better myself, but then people can be animals too.”

“I know,” Priscilla said low. She pulled at her middle button, and rolled the whiskey around in her mug with the other hand.

Newt turned her head, and dropped her mug lower across her body. Her pink mouth was open as if she was about to speak, but she caught Priscilla’s eyes and her blue eyes staggered to the ground. She started again gaze ground-level, “Would you like to come over this evening?” 

Priscilla reeled, shock zapped her muscles into action, and she jolted back towards the shadow of her apartment. Sir jumped up to her feet by Priscilla’s side. 

“O,” Newt back-pedaled verbally, face red. “I mean it’s nothing serious, just some friends that come into check on me. Poker night, some drinking I guess.” 

Priscilla’s heart raced, a trapped bird in her chest. She smiled lop-sided, closed, tried to reassure, “Yeah, I would like it.” 

If it was at all possible Newt’s smile brightened, and her blue eyes lit up. She now looked at Priscilla’s hand, the one that thumbed incessantly at the blouse button. “Incredible,” Newt breathed out a grin split her cheery freckled-face. She turned to disappear back into her apartment, then paused, her shoulders sloped and weaved under the yellow fabric.

Priscilla spoke for her, “What time?” 

“Five or six,” Newt’s head was tilted back towards the doorway, but she didn’t even glance back. “Sun is setting earlier, so you don’t have to worry about it.” Newt shut her door the white paint silent and beckoning. 

“Shit, my name,” Priscilla groaned she fell to Sir’s side and pressed her face against the dog’s neck whiskey tumbled out of her mug. Sir whined, whispy and disconnected.

“I,” Newt’s voice started again, but she stood looking at Priscilla, blue eyes warm and wide.

Priscilla jumped into action she stood up soldier straight, and Sir tossed her head. “Priscilla,” She said, “Or just Pris.” Whiskey tickled at her stocking-covered toes. 

“Thank you,” And Newt disappeared with finality. 

Priscilla ducked back into her own apartment, giddy, and head full of ideas. She turned up that night at Newt’s apartment later than anticipated. Dressed to kill in her nicest black blouse, and a white silk bra underneath. The warm autumn wind pulled at the curly strands of her short hair, and she hesitated steps away from Newt’s white door.  
She twisted her wrist, but Sir wasn’t by her side tonight. Warm voices and light floated from inside, cheer and laughter, still reminiscent of the morning. Priscilla felt entirely out of place, but she still knocked, quiet and subtle thuds. Maybe no one would answer. 

The door opened and a warm, pink, woman stood in the way. She was cherub-like and delightful. Her grin framed by rogue she leaned towards Priscilla, “Hello, hun. You must be the one from next door.” She waved a gloved hand towards the west side.

“Yes,” Priscilla stated, matter of factly, and her muted brown eyes searched the pink woman. 

“Name’s Queenie,” She held out her hand enclosing Priscilla’s in softness. “Come in, Prissy.” And Queenie pulled Priscilla along into the sweet-smelling apartment. 

The open foyer of Newt’s apartment, while mirroring her own, held more life. The artificial lights gleamed at the sides and the coffee table at the middle, long and wooden, had articles strewn all about it. Cards and bills, a knife with abandoned citrus, and tumblers half full of spirits. Two figures flickered on the surrounding couches, Newt among them.

“We’re just starting a little game, aren’t we Teenie?” 

The dark-haired woman, Teenie, looked up at the approaching figures. She leaned heavily into Newt, she was red-faced, breathless, laughter still curled her lips. 

“Yes,” Newt shifted she was wearing bright blue, and leaned back on Teenie. “We are.” 

“You can join me over here,” A woman spoke up from a cushion adjacent to Newt and Teenie’s. She was more feminine in form, and had dark shimmering skin. She introduced herself once Priscilla was seated, “I’m Seraphina.” She didn’t offer a hand, just held onto her cards. 

“And I’m Queenie, that’s Teenie, you’re Prissy, and you already know her.” 

Newt smiled and set her hand down on the tabletop face down. Teenie took a drink, and Seraphina eyed the tumblr enviously. 

Teenie looked over at Priscilla eyes dark, “Want any?”

Priscilla looked away from Newt, and nodded. A glass was pushed into her hand, “What’s in it?” 

Teenie smiled. Seraphina nudged her, and Queenie beckoned her to take a sip. Newt watched Priscilla, blue eyes fixed on her Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Priscilla set down the now empty glass. She felt unsettled, a falling sensation slipped in behind her ears, but she laughed at Queenie’s wide excited smile, and Newt’s bright relieved one. 

Teenie passed Priscilla a hand. Newt picked hers up off her lap, and the game continued. 

Later, when they had played three games and bet on nothing but meaningless secrets, they would all stretch away from the table. They yawned, and the lights flickered, each player tossed their hand onto the table. 

Queenie gave a slower, smaller smile this time. Seraphina lay half on the back of the couch her eyes opened and closed. Teenie looked concerned, and pushed her cards around on the table upsetting glass and spirits. “Want to play something different?” Queenie looked directly at Priscilla her blonde curls framed her face. 

Priscilla drew in a shattered breath. Newt watched her every move. “Okay,” Priscilla responded curiosity and warmth creeped into her bones. 

Queenie’s hand delicately plucked at the vegetable knife, she pushed away the yellow lemon with her knuckles. Teenie spread out an open space pushing aside the cards, and letting anything unwanted tumble off the table. 

“I’ll grab more,” Newt moved to get up, but Queenie, at her right, put a steady hand on her thigh. Newt fell back down. 

Teenie rose instead, “I’ve got it.” She disappeared into Newt’s small kitchen. 

Queenie handed the knife to Newt. “You put your hand like this,” She spread out her fingers on the table top, and Seraphina sat up straight. Priscilla watched Queenie spread Newt’s hand on the wood, entranced. Queenie reached for Newt’s knifehand. “Then you stab at it, and count, and try not to get cut.” She laughed like it was perfectly good fun, and moved the knife tip between Newt’s fingers slowly. 

Teenie returned, she held two bottles in her hand. She sat on Newt’s left and picked up the larger bottle, pouring the spirit into a tumbler. Newt still gripped the knife, her knuckles white, and face red. Queenie occupied herself with the tumbler, Newt looked at Priscilla, and poured a dollop of the smaller corked bottle into the tumbler. She passed it to Teenie, who passed it over Seraphina to Priscilla, both smiling. 

“Swirl that really well,” Queenie instructed, and pushed Newt’s side. The woman shifted closer to Priscilla, confused, knife still in her hand. Teenie gestured at the glass. Seraphina raised an eyebrow at it. 

Priscilla swished the glass. Then drink it, she set the tumbler down woozy and shaken. 

Queenie pushed Newt’s hand out onto the tabletop, Newt’s sheer sleeve pooled at her pale wrist. The knife was pushed in Priscilla’s direction. 

She held it, delicate grip on the handle, her chipped nails moving back and forth on the metal. “I can’t,” Priscilla said her low voice drifted into the air. Newt looked her dead in the eye, blue and warm, and wide. Her hand on the table shook and wavered, not staying in one place, a coldness crept up Priscilla’s spine, her tongue felt swollen. They waited. She placed the knife point down in-between Newt’s pinkie and ring finger. The knife wobbled. Priscilla blinked, and Queenie said honey-sweet, “C’mon.” 

She shook, and the knife moved. Faster and faster it dipped and curved between Newt’s unmarred fingers. Priscilla settled into a rhythm, but felt another crawling cotton dizziness overtake her senses, the knife slipped. Newt winced, and blood trickled out of her right ring finger, the knife had just nicked it. 

The woman surrounding Priscilla and Newt were shifted to the edges of their cushions, their sole focus the exchange of knife and hand. Queenie clapped when it stopped, laughing, and happy. Seraphina settled back, and Tina took a drink for herself. Newt took her hand away. She dived for a cool tumbler that Teenie had poured, passing the drink into Newt’s hands. 

“Look at us a bunch of widows,” Queenie said cheerfully. Priscilla stared at Newt’s hand. 

“With spirits,” Newt chimed in, her fingers safely curled around a glass. 

“Sh, I won’t tell,” Seraphina said one finger over her lips. 

The room turned, and Priscilla forgot where Newt’s hand began and the ceiling ended. Bright and blue, framed by artificial light her red curls falling around her face, Newt stood in Priscilla’s vision. The laughter and smiles continued, Seraphina lolled her head to the side on the couch. 

“What did you give her?” A hand touched her forehead, and the couch protested when Newt moved towards Priscilla. 

“Laudanum, laudanum. It seems she can’t hold it.” Teenie responded, and laughed with Queenie, “She’ll be fine.” 

Priscilla rolled half off the couch now, one arm pushed against the mildly concerned Seraphina, and face pressed into the yellow cushion. Hands grabbed at her, and the couch raised in protest again. 

“I’ll take her home,” Newt said finally, her finger still bled and it seeped into Priscilla’s blouse. She gripped the woman tightly, pulled Priscilla towards herself. Priscilla rose up and fell into Newt’s arms, they wrapped around Newt’s neck in a close hug. The women in Newt’s apartment giggled at the sight, their hands over their mouth. Then the spectators pulled at the corners of their clothes, the atmosphere quickly turned sour and tense. 

Newt tugged Priscilla towards the door, the woman stumbled and flopped on her black heels. She attempted to keep the same speed, keep her head up, and keep a hold of Newt’s arm. They briefly paused in the autumn night, the wind hot and unsettled. Newt murmured, “I’m sorry,” and clutched Priscilla closer to her side. 

They burst through Priscilla’s door, Newt closed it shut with her bare foot. Sir had been waiting on the other side, front paws balanced on the blue side of the door, and ears perked. Her tail and tongue wagged when she saw her owner stumble in on Newt’s arm. She licked at the fingers of Percival’s right hand, but quickly darted away letting loose a disjointed whine.

Newt concerned looked at Sir who trailed behind the couple, “Sorry, she’s not well right now.” She guided Priscilla from the narrow hallway to the open foyer, a cold and absent living space with a single white chesterfield pushed off to one side. She set Priscilla down on the couch. 

Priscilla rolled and groaned, grabbing at the warmth of the hand receding from the crook of her elbow. Newt, now untangled, took out Priscilla’s earrings, and unclasped the simple silver necklace around her neck. She set the woman’s jewelry on the table, and hooked off Priscilla’s short heels. 

“I’ll draw a bath,” Newt said close-by, but the voice in Priscilla’s head rang distant, and echoing. Priscilla shifted again her right hand fell off the couch and the knife clattered from out of her hand. The knife was placed beside the jewelry, and Newt disappeared into the tiny bathroom. The light floated out and curved around Priscilla’s curled form. 

Priscilla had a moment of lucidity, and she sat up on the couch. She turned her head and listened to the water rush out of the faucet. Sir bumped one of her knees, and licked the skin. Priscilla pushed her away. She grabbed the knife off the table. There was still blood at the tip. 

She needed to apologize. Priscilla carried it with her to the entrance of the bathroom, and worried the tip on the end of her finger. The knife dropped to Priscilla’s side when she saw Newt sat by the tub. 

When Newt saw Priscilla she quickly stood, and pulled her left arm out of the full tub. Water droplets fell off Newt’s warm skin and the blue sleeve of her blouse. Newt smiled warm and bright again, “Pris.”

And Priscilla hated it. She hated that she didn’t wake up everyday to that smile. That Queenie would poison Newt’s life. That Teenie would crawl into Newt’s life a surreptitious figure of attraction. That Seraphina lounged on Newt’s couch unbothered and beautiful, and siphoning attention. Priscilla stepped over the threshold, grip tightened on the knife. 

Newt’s smile fell, she stopped moving towards Priscilla. Her gaze stuck on Priscilla’s right hand. She stuttered backwards. Priscilla came undeterred into her space. The freckles on Newt’s face danced and shifted, her blue eyes caught Priscilla’s brown. Newt gripped Priscilla’s side, tugged, and pulled at her blouse. Priscilla held still for a moment under Newt’s hand, then pushed forward. One, two, and three. Newt grabbed for the bath curtain it tore, useless, and she fell into the full tub. Water sloshed out sideways, and towards Priscilla’s feet. 

Newt was scrambling, gasping to get out, her pink hands palming at the sides of the unforgiving tub. Priscilla crawled on top of her, more water escaped the tub. Newt panicked and tried to sit up, she kicked and knocked out one of Priscilla’s legs, causing the woman to fall on top. Priscilla was sprawled, the knife scratching the porcelain in her right hand. Newt’s thighs twitched underneath her, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. Priscilla curved all around Newt, her face hanging over the woman’s. Newt’s neck curved over the edge of the tub, straining to stay out of the still torrent water. 

They were gasping in each other’s space. Newt’s eyes were fixed on Priscilla’s lips, and Priscilla stared into Newt’s eyes. Priscilla leaned forward, and for a moment their lips were connected. Instinctually both her hands gravitated towards Newt’s face sloshing in the water. The knife curved and cut through the clear water, and snagged for a second on the blue sleeve of Newt’s dress. Priscilla freed Newt from the kiss and the woman underneath her whispered, “Please.”

The knife hovered at Newt’s collarbone, and Priscilla’s left hand settled around the curve of Newt’s head, toying with the wet hair. Their lips connected again, and Priscilla brought the knife to the corner of Newt’s neck, pulling the knife when she let Newt take another gasp of air. Their lips centimeters apart, and their lives separated. 

***

Newt would smile at Priscilla later in the doorway. Blood-soaked and sopping wet, the bath dripping red on the floor. She would approach, Sir at her heels, and nod.

**Author's Note:**

> Priscilla Graves’ appearance in my head is based off @thegaypumpingthroughyourveins on tumblr, because she is precious and an inspiring person in general. Leave a comment if you would like, it could just be you criticizing the ever-living shit out of me, pain is pleasure.


End file.
